


My Lovely Little Ljósálfar

by ExaltedBrand



Series: How to Be Disciplined [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Bondage, Clothed Sex, Costume Kink, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, French Kissing, Kissing, Making Out, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resplendent Heroes, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Seduction, Sequel, Shameless Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, dressing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: Upon receiving an outfit inspired by the fables of Ljósálfheimr, Eirika's thoughts wander to less than innocent places.
Relationships: Camilla/Eirika (Fire Emblem)
Series: How to Be Disciplined [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134119
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	My Lovely Little Ljósálfar

In that moment, creeping through the castle halls long after dark, Eirika couldn’t help but feel terribly foolish.

It wasn’t simply that she was awake at an absurd hour; or that her manner was hardly befitting of royalty; or that she was conducting herself with all the silly secrecy of a child. All those things were, of course, quite unacceptable, but they were habits she’d nonetheless grown accustomed to in recent weeks. A touch of discretion was necessary when engaging in behaviour that was, to put it delicately, at odds with the decency and dignity expected of her, and the very last thing she wanted was to embroil herself in scandal.

No – it wasn’t the way she was behaving that made her feel so foolish. Rather, it was that she was doing all that while dressed from head to toe in the most shameful outfit she’d ever had the audacity to squeeze herself into.

When the Order of Heroes had first presented her with the attire—brought into her room by Princess Sharena in a fanciful little oaken coffer, as if plucked from the depths of a fairy-tale forest—it had come as a wonderful gift. She had thought, from the very first time she’d laid eyes on it, that it was as charming as it was elegant: the glossy cloak woven in perfect imitation of a butterfly’s gossamer wings; the soft greens and yellows and oranges of the boots and bodice and skirt, like petals of the prettiest flower; and the most delightful ornaments she’d ever seen, from the golden lace tying it all together to the earrings as soft and clear as drops of the morning dew.

And she’d found the symbolism threaded into its design just as enchanting. The álfar of Ljósálfheimr, so the stories went, were responsible for offering only the most pleasing of dreams to sleeping mortals; and when she’d first tried it on—even though the bodice wrapped rather tightly around her waist, and the skirt was surely just a little too high to be appropriate in more esteemed company—she thought it lovely to imagine herself taking after their example and doing the very same. Her struggles against Grado back in her own world had, after all, been a war fought not only for own her sake and for the sake of her loved ones, but also for the happiness of her people – and it had always been her most fervent wish that, once the fighting was done, everyone across Magvel—young or old, rich or poor—could return to lives as carefree as the sweetest dreams.

But Eirika’s mind, so she’d quickly realised, had been despoiled in recent weeks; debased by countless nights of debauchery, and twisted towards the most immoral kinds of perversion. And when, upon the very same night she’d received the outfit, she’d innocently taken to imagining all the wonderful dreams she would have granted those closest to her had she only the power to do so, her thoughts had turned, all too quickly, towards the lascivious and profane. Towards sordid, shameful whims she’d been thoroughly unable to dispel ever since she’d first been introduced to the joys of being indecent.

And, most of all, her thoughts had turned towards Princess Camilla – the one who had taught her such shamelessness in the first place. The one who, so many nights ago—and for so many nights since—had coaxed her to behave in a manner so grossly inappropriate for a lady of her status and position; to surrender herself to the basest of appetites; and to delight in the most outrageous of fantasies. The one who had made Eirika so very vulgar through their acquaintance, unshackling her from all the unnecessary bindings of dignity and decorum and leading her, instead, down a path of brazen libertinism.

Camilla had been good to her. Camilla had been kind to her. Camilla had awoken a longing in her that she had never known before – and she wanted now, as she found herself wanting so often, to indulge that longing. To taste those full, soft lips of hers. To run her fingers through that luxurious purple hair. To feel their bodies pressed together, and the warmth of her breath upon her cheek, and the bliss of losing herself to pleasure.

Oh, Camilla made her want so many things. So many sweet, shameful things. But tonight, she wanted to be greedy; wanted to _want_ just a little bit more.

Tonight, like the very ljósálfar her outfit had been fashioned after, she wanted to pay Camilla a visit in the dead of night – and to offer her a dream she’d never forget.

Such were the immoral thoughts that had led Eirika to her present circumstances – tiptoeing around the castle in that lovely, accursed ensemble, and gliding silently through its endless moonlit halls, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t run into anyone on patrol.

It had started as a silly little notion. A foolish idea that had simply popped into her head without warning, as so many foolish ideas were wont to do, urging her to defy her better judgement and to do something truly, astonishingly absurd. Such ideas, everyone knew, were typically to be avoided; to be cast aside, disregarded, and promptly forgotten as one among many strange, inscrutable fancies of the night – never to be entertained in earnest. And while there _were_ those who had an irrepressible habit of indulging each and every ridiculous fancy that fluttered their way—Princess L’Arachel, to name but the most egregious example that came to mind—Eirika was a princess of Renais: dignified, proper, and upstanding. She was, so she told herself, well and truly above such impulses.

The idea, however, had stuck; had continued to plague her, day after day, with obsessive persistence. And when her mind, warped as it had become under Camilla’s influence, had been flooded with thoughts of herself straddling the Nohrian princess in her bed—her hair cascading over her shoulders and spread out across the pillows, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms curled around Eirika in an embrace—she’d felt something stirring deep within her – and she could neither deny nor subdue it.

Gods, but she could scarcely believe the things she desired now. The things she’d done with Camilla, and the things she still wanted to do. The very thought of it all made her cheeks burn as red as the setting sun; made her heart race and her chest heave and her knees so very weak.

But on this particular desire, she could wait no longer. Even if it meant the death of her dignity, it had to be tonight.

She was glad when, at long last, she reached the doors to Camilla’s chambers without incident. She’d suffered no frights from heroes on patrol; no mortifying encounters with familiar faces who might have been tempted to ask very reasonable questions of her conduct. She’d moved quickly and quietly, scanning her surroundings with the same urgency she practiced in battle and braving the darkness where she might have otherwise taken more cautious steps. But now that she was here, she found herself hesitating.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Surely it couldn’t be nerves – not after all the countless nights she’d spent with Camilla, all too willingly debasing and degrading herself time and time again before the older princess. Was it the outfit? Certainly, for as brilliant a piece as it was, she couldn’t help but feel a little awkward in it—the way it hugged her body and accentuated her curves—but then Camilla would hardly mind such a thing. If anything, her only worry was that Camilla would be far too eager to tear her outfit off when her very intention was to titillate her with the sight of it.

Perhaps it was the plan itself that gave her pause. The thought of taking charge over someone as powerful and experienced as Camilla—a woman who dominated in battles and bedchambers alike—was as intimidating a prospect as it was enticing. Would she even be any good at it? Would she be able to keep up appearances for more than a few moments before the weight of shame caught up with her?

Standing there, torn between decency and desire, she briefly thought to turn around; to sneak back to her room and abandon her ill-conceived idea.

In the end, however, desire won out. Her desire to enjoy Camilla, and her desire to treat Camilla to something so delightful. Something… naughty.

The thought, so obscene, made her shiver with something approaching excitement.

With that, she took a deep breath – and slowly, quietly opened the door, creeping inside and ever so gently closing the door behind her.

And there she was. Camilla, in all her beautiful, imposing glory – asleep in her bed and gently snoring. Like this, dressed in her dark nightgown, she looked so serene, and Eirika’s heart skipped a beat as she gazed upon her; then another beat, then another, and soon it was less a series of beats and more a gallop as blood rushed to her head and made her feel far too many things at once. An intense wave of lust—base, vulgar lust—shot through her body, and she could feel her last bit of restraint slipping away with every second she spent staring at Camilla.

But no – no, she couldn’t be so rash. So impulsive. Certainly, she wanted nothing more than to rush up to Camilla’s side and lavish her with kisses right there and then; to peel away her silken sheets and explore her body with eager hands and lips; to let their passion, as one, run wild and free… but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t throw this perfect opportunity to the wind for a few fleeting moments of hedonism. She had to retain her composure, no matter how dearly she wanted to give herself up to her feelings. To remain disciplined, if not dignified.

Tonight, she would be a ljósálfar – not an unchecked, untamed animal of lust, but a delicate hand guiding Camilla through the night. She would craft for her a wonderful dream – and she would be in control of every last detail.

In control. Over Camilla. Were she not trying to keep quiet, she would have giggled at the brazen absurdity of the idea.

She breathed in; breathed out. Then, with a pounding heart—and trying desperately to ignore the throbbing of her loins—she drifted, slow and deliberate, towards Camilla’s bed. Only a few steps in, her legs seemed to turn to jelly, and she had to briefly steady herself against the bed frame; but then the feeling mercifully passed, and she continued to inch ever nearer, hardly daring to make a sound.

Briefly, Camilla seemed to stir; seemed to shift under her sheets, threatening to spoil the proper moment – even as ‘proper’ felt like the entirely wrong word for it. But the very instant Eirika’s heart threatened to burst from her chest, Camilla fell quiet again, and soon her breathing settled back into its gentle rhythm. Feeling the blood pounding through her veins, Eirika moved closer, and closer still – and now, at last, she was close enough to touch her. To embrace her.

Carefully—or as carefully as she could in such an elaborate outfit, so as not to wake her just yet—she crawled up onto the bed, straddling Camilla’s form and sitting herself on her hips. Again, Camilla stirred; and again, she fell silent.

Eirika bit her lip as she felt the heat of Camilla’s body through her tight dress – and _gods_ , it was taking every ounce of willpower she had left not to lose her composure. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was a princess, for pity’s sake. A noble lady. Yes, she’d spent so many lustful nights in Camilla’s company… but had she not even a sliver of shame left in her conscience?

It seemed almost strange, she thought, that Camilla could sleep so soundly. While their blossoming relationship had certainly been defined, above all else, by decadence and pleasure, it hadn’t been without its brief moments of tender intimacy; and as they’d bathed together on many nights—as the older woman had threaded her fingers through Eirika’s hair, washing every inch of her body with such affection—she’d learned of Camilla’s past. Of the trauma and tragedies she’d endured as a child, and of the cruel political games she’d been forced to participate in, and of her reasons, stemming from such an upbringing, for showing love to those who needed it the most. She’d grown up in a world where it had been customary to sleep with a dagger under one’s pillow, and where every dark corner was to be regarded with suspicion. Yet here she was – calm and content, untroubled by the waking world.

She should have left her like this. She should have let her enjoy a rare moment of peace.

Yes, she should have done so. But she was a slave to her baser urges now – and too far gone to think of anything but Camilla’s pleasure.

Ever so slowly, she bent down—her lips less than an inch from Camilla’s ear—and whispered as softly as she could.

“Camilla.”

It was enough. After only a few seconds, Camilla’s eye fluttered open, gazing up at Eirika. And even her curious gaze—deep and purple—was enough to set Eirika’s heart racing all over again.

“Eirika, darling,” she purred. “I must say, this is a pleasant surprise…”

Eirika blushed, and the fire in her cheeks somehow outdid even the passion in her heart. But she could stay focused. She _had_ to stay focused. She had a role to play. All she needed to do was to recite the words she’d practiced over and over again in her head.

The many, many words. Gods, she could hardly remember a quarter of them.

“Camilla,” she murmured, hoping the nervous little quiver in her voice would only make it sound all the more enticing. “I’m… I’m here to offer you… a lovely dream.”

Camilla smiled. A soft, playful smile.

“Are you, now…? So am I awake, or is this all just a _very_ tempting fantasy…?”

“A… a fantasy. A dream, I mean.” Eirika swallowed; searched for her composure, and clung back onto it. “We ljósálfar… bring happiness to mortals. Ease their burdens as they sleep. So, I’d… like to make you happy too.”

“Mm. I like the sound of that.” Camilla’s voice was absolutely dripping with desire, and Eirika found it quite astonishing how quickly she could turn from a sleepy princess to a starving animal. “Well, then, my lovely ljósálfar… I’m all ears. What kind of dream did you have in mind…?”

“The kind you won’t soon forget,” Eirika said, though her voice cracked a little. Even to her own ears, she sounded less than convincing. But Camilla—mercifully, and much to her happiness—seemed perfectly eager to go along with her childish scenario.

“Tell me more,” she breathed, her gaze dark and hungry with lust. “After all, the stories of Ljósálfheimr are quite marvellous, so to have one of your kind pay me a personal visit… I can only imagine that it’s going to be something truly special. So, tell me… What are you going to do to me? I’d love to hear _every_ detail…”

“I…”

Again, Eirika swallowed. All the moisture in her body seemed to have gathered in her core, leaving her mouth as dry as Jehanna’s dunes. But she had to push on.

“First,” she managed, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Camilla’s visible eye sparkled with mischief – and as Eirika moved forward, drawn towards the Nohrian princess like a flower to the sun, they met halfway, pressing their lips together in a gentle, chaste peck that quickly became something more. Camilla’s arms wrapped around Eirika’s body, pulling her in tight as their lips and tongues moved together in a perfect, practiced rhythm; and Eirika’s hands cupped her face, letting her fingers dance along the line of her jaw. Every part of her felt so soft – soft like the finest velvet, like silk woven into her skin, like the delicate edges of a rose. It was some time before they parted – and when they did, Eirika found herself quietly desperate for more.

“My, my,” Camilla giggled. “Are all your kind such wonderful kissers, or have I just been graced with an exceptionally naughty creature…?”

“We can… be whatever you’d like us to be.” Eirika had plucked the words in a hurry from some far corner of her rehearsals; had summoned it up in a hopeless attempt to distract herself from Camilla’s shameless flirting. “Just as we can offer you… w-whatever you desire…”

“Is that so…? How exciting.” Camilla’s fingers traced the lace on the very front of Eirika’s dress, teasing her way up and down, and tugged ever so slightly at the edge of her skirt. “Were I walking alone in the woods, and a little ljósálfar as adorable as you fluttered out from behind a tree to greet me… why, I fear I’d simply be overcome with the need to give her every little bit of my attention. To draw her down into the flowers and foliage, where she’d look her most charming… To peel away her pretty dress, petal by petal, so that I could admire every inch… And to part her legs and discover all the lovely things she might let me do to her…”

Her words, so immoral and indecent, poured into Eirika’s mind, setting it alight, and her heart hammered in her chest, drowning out every sound but Camilla’s voice.

“But right now… I think I quite enjoy you as you are,” she whispered. “Coming to me when I’m most vulnerable, taking charge so very boldly, treating me to a tantalising dream of your own design… I daresay you’ve captured my heart; made me thrall to your charms. Had I any reason to doubt your honesty, I’d even presume to say you weren’t a ljósálfar at all, but rather a dökkálfar dressed in the daylight’s colours. A wanton, wicked creature of the night – masquerading as a pure, innocent maiden…”

Gods, she knew exactly what to say; knew exactly which words to use to fan the flames of Eirika’s passion. But now wasn’t the time to get flustered, or to surrender control so pitifully. Now wasn’t the time to crumble under her touch; to lose herself in her voice, sinking ever deeper into her cloying words; to let that same silver tongue find its way under her skirt and drift ever closer towards her aching—

No. No, not this time. Not tonight.

Tonight, she would seize the reins – and be the one to drive Camilla silly with lust.

She took a deep breath, then drew closer again, whispering back into Camilla’s ear.

“Perhaps I am,” she said, with far more confidence than she actually felt. “Perhaps I’ve lured you into my trap, lovely Camilla, and deceived you. Perhaps you’re already mine.”

Her hands slid under Camilla’s nightgown, working their way up her thigh, and the Nohrian princess shuddered with anticipation, pressing her own lips against Eirika’s ear.

“Then steal me away, darling. Ravish me. If I’m to be yours, then make me yours… and show me the kinds of pleasures one can only find in a dream.”

She hardly needed to ask – though Eirika was quite relieved that she had, if only for propriety’s sake.

“If that’s what you want,” Eirika managed, feeling her voice growing weak with arousal, “then I’d be happy to oblige…”

For just a moment, the last word hung in the air between them, their hot breath mingling with the searing heat of their intimacy. Then, at last, she inched just a little higher, cupping the soaking warmth between Camilla’s legs – and to mask her own shame, she captured her lover’s lips in another kiss, fierce and fiery, their tongues dancing together in the darkness.

Lover. Such a scandalous word; so drenched in meaning, in consequence. But somehow, with Camilla, it felt so right.

In one, smooth motion, her fingers plunged into Camilla’s slick, waiting folds, stretching her wide and making her groan into their kiss.

“Oh, yes…” Camilla murmured, her voice trembling in an entirely unfamiliar way. “You’re a wicked one, aren’t you…? To think such an adorable face could hide—a-ah…!”

Eirika, stopping for nothing, drove ever deeper, grinding the heel of her palm against Camilla’s clit and stroking the sweet, hidden spot she’d become so thoroughly acquainted with over so many nights under the older princess’s touch – and Camilla, responding immediately, threw her head back in blissful agony, her hips bucking upward to meet each and every eager thrust. Eirika worked with increasing vigour, bringing her to writhe and squirm in a way which seemed so out of character for her, but which Eirika found every bit as intoxicating as the taste of her lips and the smell of her skin.

With only a few, simple motions, she could feel the power she held over Camilla, over her body, over every gasp and sigh – and gods, did it feel wonderful. Each touch was calculated, each caress was designed to stir Camilla to ever greater heights of pleasure; and even as her face was burning with every kind of shame at what she’d become over so few weeks—how deviant she’d become—she couldn’t help but lose herself to the moment.

Camilla had taught her so much; taught her how to loosen up, how to enjoy herself, how to be free from the shackles of decency. And now, she wanted to show her how very attentive a student she’d been. How very grateful she was for all that she’d done.

“You’re so… remarkable…” Camilla moaned, letting the words tumble out in a sigh of pure ecstasy. “Oh, I… I could enjoy you forever, darling… I could fall into your arms, and… oh, by the gods… and let you carry me away on those _gorgeous_ wings of yours…”

“I want to make you feel good,” Eirika replied, as honestly as she could, and she felt her voice quiver again as her pace slowed. “I-I want to show you… what you’ve done for me.”

For a moment—just a moment—Camilla’s expression changed; and the lust fell away, replaced with something flickering between surprise and the deepest kind of affection.

“I see…” she murmured, letting her hand drift up to stroke at Eirika’s cheek. “Ah, you dear, sweet girl…” 

Then, the moment passed – and as Eirika felt a tell-tale tightening around her fingers, Camilla’s lips curled back up into a devious grin.

“What a strange thing to say on our first meeting, my charming ljósálfar… unless, perhaps, you’ve visited my dreams on more than one occasion, pouring light into my life so quietly, so dutifully… and so very, _very_ generously…”

Every time Camilla whispered to her in that low, husky voice of hers, sending such shivers up her spine, Eirika couldn’t help but feel that she wasn’t where she was meant to be; that she was meant to be underneath Camilla, not on top of her; that she was meant to be submitting to Camilla, not taking the lead. The humiliation, the degradation, the sheer immorality of it all – it had always been like sweet honey to her senses, exciting her in a way she still couldn’t comprehend. Even dressed up like a ljósálfar, she could only offer a tenth of the pleasures that Camilla provided to her.

And yet, Camilla was enjoying herself. Eirika could hear it in her words, in her sighs, in her moans – but she could also see it. She could see it in the way her hips rolled in time with her thrusts, silently begging for more. In the way her lips were ever so slightly parted, letting her tongue slip out every so often to wet them. In the way her fingers grazed over Eirika’s hips, playing with the flowers adorning her belt – sometimes stroking softly, sometimes clawing with need.

Camilla was happy. Happy in spite of her clumsiness, and her inexperience. And the thought was enough for Eirika to banish her last vestiges of doubt and restraint.

“You’re very astute,” she whispered, letting her lips caress the shell of Camilla’s ear – and for the first time, she felt entirely in command of her own voice. “Time and time again, I find I can’t help but pay you a visit in the night. Perhaps I simply enjoy your company far more than a creature of my noble nature ought. Perhaps I’m as much a captive of your charms as you’re a captive of mine…”

“Nonsense, sweetie,” Camilla purred, her voice dropping lower still to a tone that sent tingles through Eirika’s very core. “You’re welcome in my dreams whenever you like… and I do so hope you’ll continue to visit me.”

Eirika smiled—at once playful and earnest—then drew her fingers from Camilla’s sopping entrance, and let her lips drift lower down – down past her heaving bosom, down past her the dip of her navel, and down past the trimmed purple hair framing her womanhood. And then, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“Camilla,” Eirika breathed, meeting her gaze in the darkness and letting her breath tickle the apex of her lover’s thighs. “I’m going to devour you now.”

“By the gods, darling,” Camilla groaned, all but trembling, “I’m counting on it.”

With that, Eirika wasted no more time. Her mouth closed around the very heart of Camilla’s desire, and her tongue drew a firm but gentle line up her drenched folds – and then slowly parted them, sliding deep into her lover’s aching depths.

“Oh…” Camilla panted, her fingers loosely clutching at Eirika’s hair. “Oh, that’s… o-oh, yes…”

As always, Camilla’s voice drove Eirika wild with passion; and she worked all the more eagerly, picking up the pace and pushing as far into Camilla as she could manage. She curled her tongue, swirling it around and rubbing insistently against Camilla’s inner walls, and soon settled into a steady rhythm, urged on by Camilla’s lustful groans to ever greater exertions. The taste, flowing so freely with every lick and thrust, threatened to overwhelm her senses, and she almost gasped for breath; but she summoned all her strength and pressed on, driven to satisfy Camilla and bring her to the height of ecstacy.

And her efforts, if Camilla’s ragged breathing and increasingly urgent moans were any indication, seemed to be bearing the most wonderful fruit.

“E-Eirika…!” Camilla cried. “Oh, keep going, darling… Gods, I… I’m so close…!”

How very curious it was, Eirika thought, to hear Camilla lose control. To hear her untethered from dignity and dominance. To hear her plead and whimper so helplessly, desperate for release.

And how lovely it was, as delightful as their little roleplay was, to hear her so briefly breaking character – screaming Eirika’s name into the night.

Eirika only pressed deeper still in response, quickening her rhythm and redoubling her efforts. She felt Camilla’s thighs quivering against her cheeks, the sting of her nails pulling more and more frantically at her hair, the pounding of her heart in perfect time with Eirika’s own; and her tongue rubbed against Camilla’s firm, slick flesh, working in ways she’d never used it before, in ways she’d never thought herself capable of – but in ways, too, which she knew she’d never, ever tire of doing.

And then, as Camilla’s body seized up, her efforts were finally, gloriously rewarded. With a short, sharp squeal—so charmingly unlike Camilla’s usual composure—the older princess’s sweet release flooded into Eirika’s mouth, running down from her throat to the fine orange lace of her outfit. She swallowed as much as she could, running her tongue over Camilla’s desperate, tender slit; then pressed even closer, as if to lap up every drop.

“Oh, you lovely… ah… You precious girl…”

Camilla’s body, at last, seemed to relax. Her trembling ceased, her tension fell away, and her fingers started to gently comb their way through Eirika’s hair.

But Eirika wasn’t done. She wanted to give Camilla everything she had; wanted to consume every ounce of her desire and draw it into herself. She was the one in control of this ‘dream’ – and only she would decide when it was done.

Camilla gasped twice—first with surprise, then with delight—as Eirika pushed her roughly up against the pillows and immediately set back to work, licking and sucking and kissing at her most sensitive spots and tracing delicate circles around the hood of her clit. In only a few moments, Camilla’s breath caught in her throat as before, wrapping her legs around Eirika’s head, and a deluge of fresh nectar filled the younger princess’s throat – but she didn’t let up, didn’t waver for even an instant. Her cheeks were sticky with more than just sweat, and her tongue was burning with more than just the heat, but Eirika couldn’t bring herself to mind. She was focused only on Camilla – on every little twitch and shudder of her body, and on bringing her from one peak to another.

She no longer cared how unsightly it all was; how far she’d fallen, or how lustful and immoral she’d allowed herself to become, or what anyone else might have thought of her if they’d seen her like this. There and then, in that moment, she only wanted to keep going – and to drive Camilla into the kind of bliss that she so duly deserved.

“Darling… oh, Eirika…” Camilla managed. “You really are… my sweetest dream come true…”

And so she would.

* * *

By the early hours of the morning, however, all of Eirika’s bright ideas about being in control had quite inevitably fallen to pieces. In the end, she had perhaps pushed her lover just a little too far; and Camilla, like a starving animal waiting so patiently for her prey, had pounced at the very first sign of weakness.

Now, Eirika’s position was much more familiar. Her hands were tied to the bedposts with bright blue ribbons, hand-picked by Camilla for the way they so pleasingly complimented her hair, and her legs were spread wide – and Camilla, her hair dishevelled and her nightgown falling to her waist, was gripping her oh-so firmly by the thighs and taking her with a strap-on, thrusting into her with raw, hungry ferocity. The pain melded with pleasure in that way Eirika found so senselessly enjoyable, and as the feeling overwhelmed her, every last coherent thought was driven from her mind.

The ljósálfar attire, at least, had stayed on – from the gossamer-light dress to the high leather boots to the dewdrop earrings. Camilla had insisted that it looked too adorable to tear off; and now that she’d wrested back control, she seemed more than happy than to indulge in the idea of having such a mythical creature all to herself.

“Do you like that, darling?” Camilla asked, her words dripping with mischief. “Or do you want something harder…?”

“Mmmhh…!”

Camilla chuckled, and the sound excited Eirika just as much as the physical sensations. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then…”

She shifted her weight ever so slightly – then immediately set a new, brutal pace, each thrust pushing deep into Eirika with enough force to split her in two. She could feel every inch as it slid in and out of her, and no matter how forcefully she pulled at the ribbons, they wouldn’t give way. She was at Camilla’s mercy – completely and utterly.

Just as she liked it.

“Please,” Eirika whimpered. “Please…”

“Please, what?” Camilla asked. “If you want something, my lovely little ljósálfar, you’re going to have to be specific…”

“More…”

“More?” Camilla cooed, punctuating the word with a particularly vicious thrust. “More of this?”

“Yes,” Eirika managed. “I need… harder…”

“You’d like me to go harder, darling?”

“Yes!” Eirika cried.

“To reduce you to a quivering mess?” she whispered. “To ravage you senseless, and have you screaming my name all the way to the deepest glades of Ljósálfheimr?”

“Yes! Oh, gods – yes!”

“To take you and make you mine?”

“Yes! I’m yours! I’m all yours!”

Camilla’s lips curled into a grin – as dangerous as it was delightful.

“Then you shall have me, my darling Eirika,” she purred. “Now, and forever.”

This, perhaps, was what Camilla desired most of all. And Eirika—bathed in the light of dawn and losing herself to such familiar depths of depravity as Camilla took her to every promised height and more—couldn’t help but feel the same.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story (and if you're interested in updates on my writing), feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ExaltedBrandAO3)!


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